What George Remembers
by Victoria Humblydum
Summary: The people who say that your loved ones never truly die but rather live in your heart forever are liars. It’s really the other way around; when they leave, they take a bit of your heart with them. Oneshot.


**A/N: Alright, I wrote this short little piece the other day rather than doing my homework. I emailed it off to my good friend Zolo to edit, changed around a few things myself and am now just sitting here, waiting for you all to tell me what you think about it. **

George remembers things he wished he couldn't. They play over and over in his head like a song put on repeat.

The funeral. A casket being lowered slowly into the ground. A clan of redheads sobbing. All but George, who can't cry without his heart which seems to have abandoned him in favor of settling next to the cold body of his twin. There is a cold empty space in his chest now. The people who say that your loved ones never truly die but rather live in your heart forever are liars. It's really the other way around; when they leave, they take a bit of your heart with them.

When George looked into a mirror a week after the final battle, he thought saw Fred staring back at him. Anything that might possibly have been left of his heart shattered when he realized that it was his own reflection and that he would never again see his other half.

Now George just sits in a bedroom with twin beds that he finally has all to himself, remembering. He sorts through an old box and freezes, looking tortured as he finds a pair of homemade sweaters, one with the letter F, the other with a G. He still hasn't cried yet, and wishes more than anything that he could. Instead, his eyes stay dry as he carefully refolds the sweaters and places them back in the box which he pushes under his bed with his foot.

When the silence gets to be too much, George turns on the strange muggle music device Hermione lent him. He blasts it in his single ear, trying to drown out the roaring silence of being alone.

Three times a day, without fail, his mother knocks on the door and, not getting an answer, leaves a plate of food outside the door. More often than not, the food simply sits there, waiting to be traded out with another plate of steaming food at the next mealtime. George doesn't seem to notice or care that his clothes no longer fit properly anymore.

George isn't sure of the date anymore, days pass as quickly as minutes or as slowly as years. He is afraid of forgetting. Forgetting the mischievous smile, the laughing eyes, and the look only George ever saw on Fred's face; that of vulnerability. When the war was at its worst and they were in hiding, to an outsider they seemed unaffected. Only alone did the masks crack and the fear and hopelessness of it all ever show. George muses that that mask might be permanently cracked for him, but he can't bring himself to care.

Owls sometimes tap on the window, letters from well-meaning friends clenched in their talons. Although George accepts each letter from the owls, the words of pity and concern go up in smoke, unread. Every time he burns a letter, George feels a flash of guilt. Although he tries to squash such feelings, he finds himself saving the ashes in a forgotten drawer in his dresser.

One day, George is startled out of his thoughts as there is a knock at the door and it is opened by someone other than George himself for the first time in weeks. It's Ginny. Although she was always his and Fred's favorite sibling, excluding each other, George hasn't been able to bring himself to talk to her since Fred dies, perhaps for that very reason.

"Take a walk with me?" she asks and George almost declines until he sees her eyes and the desperation and sadness there.

Wordlessly, he rises, accepting her hand. They walk behind the house though the trees dappled with sunlight. Neither speaks, not wanting to be the first one to break the silence.

Finally, Ginny speaks, her words rushing out, falling over each other, tripped by emotion.

"I miss him too, George, but Fred's gone and he's not coming back. You have to live again; he wouldn't have wanted you to waste your life like this, cooped up in your room. He would want you to live, even though he can't. Please, George, just try."

Tears stream down her face and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his chest. He hesitantly puts his arms around her shaking shoulder and, for the first time since Fred died, George starts to cry.

They stand there crying as the sun sets, lighting up landscape. They cry for a loss of innocence, a loss of childhood, and the sacrifices made to save them all. But mostly, they cry for a laughing redheaded boy who will never see his twenty-first birthday. George feels a bit of the empty space in his chest fill up, just a bit and somewhere, looking down on them, Fred smiles.

The End.

**Now, I'm sure you're just itching to review and tell me how much you loved/hated it . . . or not. Either way, I would love you very much if you would review. Thanks.**


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